One night, many weeks
by Cold-Beanz
Summary: Mike is rescued from pursuers, only to have a drunken one-night stand with his rescuer. He thinks that's it, until he is told he is going to be seeing a lot more of the man and his brother. (Going for a rom-com kinda feel, OC is male) Human Au!
1. chapter 1

"Put him down." The coldness of the young man's voice gave the three brutes pause for thought, while managing to further terrify their captive. While his build was small compared to the crowd, he gave off an intimidating aura. A fedora was carefully placed at an angle over his eyes, shadowing them enough to be incredibly foreboding. His suit was expensive and well-tailored, though suspiciously loose at the chest, which was where his hand was creeping now.

"Did I not make myself clear?" his hand was fully in his pocket and holding onto whatever was in there. "Release him or I will resort to less polite ways of asking." His expression looked blank, but a close enough look showed his frown.

The assembled group paused. Despite not being particularly smart, they knew a thing or two about the world of crime. They knew enforcers, and that they often carried particularly nasty handguns, as well as more connections than most people would make in a lifetime. While they might have had a chance against him on pure brute strength, the man was well-trained and likely armed.

Best not to risk it.

Slowly, begrudgingly, their victim was pushed out of the huddle, left between a rock and a hard place. He was shivering in his badly-insulated suit. Though he had a thick formal jacket, it was cheap, and provided little warmth when soaking wet and still standing in an exposed alley. Pinstripe fabric stuck to pale skin, making him feel even more exposed.

"Now then. If I see you near him again, you will regret it."

One of the thugs drew himself up. "You don't get to threaten me, you-"

"Unlike me, you are a dime-a-dozen piece of mindless muscle. Get out of my sight before you annoy me any more."

The tallest growled before he finally turned to their leader, a stocky brunette who spent more time in the gym weekly than he'd ever spent time in school. Finally, they decided to just comply, shuffling reluctantly to...wherever they felt like. Probably the nearest place with cheap alcohol.

At this the young man rolled bright green eyes beneath his hat's brim, reaching up to re-angle it at the right roguish tilt. He then turned to the still-shivering man and gave a polite, reassuring smile.

"Are you OK there...?"

"M-Mike."

"Mike. Nice name."

"T-thanks?"

The young man smiled wider, and offered his hand. "You're welcome."

Mike took the offered hand gingerly, suddenly very aware of himself and how pathetic he probably looked. There was a small moment where he noted the expensive leather glove and the tiny band of tattooed skin visible between the glove and the crisply pressed shirt. For a second, Mike felt a little more confident, almost warm, but it evaporated when the arm returned to the man's side.

"So, do you...have a place? Think it might be best if I make sure you're not alone. Least til those guys have cleared off for good."

"I uh..." Mike tailed off, remembering that technically, he didn't any more. Nancy had had enough of him doing nothing to help with the debt issue, and kicked him out of her apartment. He couldn't exactly buy his own place, so...no.

"Nothing right now?" The young man asked. He was smiling still, but it had a gentle look, instead of being smug or malicious.

"Nah." Mike tried to reclaim some of his usual ego, though it came out slightly deflated.

"Huh." The other pulled a pensive face, poking his face out of the alley and glancing both ways.

"Yeah I think we can go around 5-10 minutes up the road. Should be a flat you can have for a while."

Mike's eyebrows shot up, disappearing under his white hair (He should really have gotten that cut, especially since now it was wet and dripping rain in his face). People did not just give away houses, no matter how nice they were. "The hell?" he murmured.

The young man turned to him, a curious expression on his face. "Do you have some other idea?"

"No, I just thought that you couldn't give away houses and stuff. Aren't there rules and stuff?" Mike groaned inwardly when he realised his repeat, blood rushing into his face. He wasn't exactly sure why he was blushing, but he was very aware of the fact his albino condition made it a thousand times more obvious.

Thankfully, the man was too busy patting down his pockets to correct repetition. Eventually he managed to produce a well-hidden umbrella, opening it before offering it to Mike. After a half-hearted attempt at being polite and refusing, Mike took the umbrella gladly, leading to a smile from the other man.

"Ready?" he asked, gesturing out of the alley. Mike nodded, walking forward so they fell in step next to each other, the taller man closest to the road. Reflections of a rainbow of neon light bounced of his sharp features. Since there wasn't much conversation, and the man had yet to reveal his name, Mike focused on trying to remember as much of his mysterious rescuer as possible.

The man's eyes were green, but unlike the usual green grass etc, his eyes were more like dark, glittering emeralds -Where did that come from? Holy mother that was gay, Mike thought. Moving on swiftly from that, he looked to other features of the man.

Dark red hair? Probably dyed, right?

Expensive suit, so probably either born rich or pretty well-connected.

Tattoos could mean anything. Troublemaker, or just a fashion statement? Or no reason at all.

"So...what you doing now?"

Mike snapped out of his study to turn to the other.

"Uh, what?"

"Y'know, like...a job or a project or whatever?" The man shrugged, his black jacket slipping a little down his shoulders.

"Oh, uh, yeah. Doin' some singing down at the theatre."

The man's step faltered for a second. He turned to Mike, grinning. "No way."

"What?" Mike snapped, turning his head toward the taller man.

"You're that guy from the show!" He visibly lit up. "Oh my God, you were amazing!"

"Oh." Not the reaction he was expecting, but a pleasant surprise. While it was difficult to run into a non-tourist who hadn't seen the landmark show, he managed to keep people off his back with his general unapproachable aura. His odd appearance didn't really help him blend in, but Hell if he'd give up his style. Besides, sometimes people gave you things for being famous, which helped given his current situation.

Factoring this all in, he decided to go for the ever-eloquent mumbled thanks.

"Hey, you're welcome! My friend actually got into music again cuz of you and your friends."

"Really?" Mike took a moment. He helped someone. He didn't even get paid (or something that rhymed). His companion was smiling again, and for some reason he preferred that. They continued in content silence for a while, before coming to an unassuming apartment building, just like the dozens on each side of the road once you got past the shops.

Mike stood awkwardly under the umbrella as the other once again went through the routine of patting down his clothes trying to find the key. He fished a comically full keyring out and managed to eventually separate the three keys with blue covers, taking two of them off and giving them to Mike.

"I'll keep this one just in case, kay?"

"Yeah, fair enough." Some of his usual swagger was returning now that he felt a little more comfortable.

His companion led the way inside, going to the furthest end of the hall and unlocking the door. Like a true gentleman, he held the door open as they went in.

Immediately Mike was struck by how warm it was. Even the colours and lights fit, providing comforting shades of brown and orange, as well as some copper where metal fit. It looked like it had been pulled from the pages of an Ikea planner's greatest dream and given to him. For a ground floor apartment in the middle of town, it was heaven. Decent kitchen too, if Mike had ever had half a mind to try cooking.

"So I just get ta live here?" he asked, still not entirely sure his pursuers hadn't just put him in a coma, and this was all some pleasant, cold, well-designed dream. The other nodded, smiling before placing his hat and suit jacket on the radiator to dry. Without them, it was easy to see how that mid-length hair fell over his eyes. Probably why he had the hat, but still.

"Yeah. I'm thinking we celebrate."

"Celebrate how?" as much as he'd like to have a viable excuse for excessive alcohol, being around people was the last thing he wanted.

"Like all great celebrations," he began, opening the cupboard under the sink. He emerged with several bottles of strong liquor "with booze.". There was a mischievous grin on his face, the kind that said bad decisions were going to be made, and the person making them was completely prepared for that.

A few empty bottles later, they were slumped in the comfier armchairs around the low copper coffee table giggling about some bad pun from 15 minutes ago. Mike was a little more reserved in his laughter, despite being more drunk. His companion, on the other hand, snorted loudly at everything that was said.

There was a rare pause in their ramblings, and the two just looked at each other. Mike blinked for a few moments, before the other stood up and jumped into his lap. They giggled again before leaning in to each other's faces.


	2. Chapter 2

Sunlight filtered through curtains, and an albino man sat up, rubbing his red eyes. He had a world-class hangover, and it didn't help that he felt sore all over. There was a lazy sort of calm in the bedroom until- Wait why am I in here? A blanket of inebriation covered his memory. It didn't stop him from cracking an eyelid open. A single red rose lay on the dresser, next to a note.

Mike walked over and read the untidy scrawl. It had trouble staying on the lines, wandering up and down.

Mike,

Sorry for running off like that. I don't usually but I don't really know what to do about this…thing. Heck, I don't even know if you're gay or anything, sooo…yeah. Unless you don't really care about this going any further, I wrote my number on the back of this. Just drop me a message and I'll reply when I can.

Thanks,

Jack.

Mike stood still for a few moments to absorb it. There was no way he…did that right? He was straight, and no amount of alcohol could change that.

Then again, if he was…he hadn't done badly in terms of pulling. Jack. Well, there was no denying he was hot, and suave and- oh shit.

He was supposed to be at the New Moon theatre yesterday. Time to get moving, or he was going to miss the whole morning.

One quick shower later (during which he realized who did what) and he was at the theatre, giving casual greetings to everyone, not bothering with excuses for his lateness. Buster was his usual enthusiastic self, running around thanking people for showing up. Potential singers and their moral supporters filled the lobby, and the original crew chatted quietly about people they'd like to tutor. Obviously each choice fitted their music preferences, but there were some unexpected extras, like playing certain instruments or wanting to dance(guess who).

The auditions began as the lights went down, courtesy of Eddie. First on, a slim girl who introduced herself as Ashley. Her hair was in a slightly messy ponytail, and she wore a purple t-shirt with dark blue jeans. In the crowd to support her were a pair that seemed only slightly older than Ashley herself. There was a girl with dark hair, as well as her boyfriend, who looked like a psychopath in black leather.

He had to admit though, she was good. Despite her tomboy look, she sang some energetic pop hit and absolutely nailed it, bringing forth some kind of happy energy as she sang. From the look on both Buster and the gang's faces, chances were she'd be a starring act.

She finished, flushed, and beamed at Buster's glowing praise. The clipboard noted she'd likely be paired with Johnny or Gunter. Both good choices for that kind of singer.

Next onstage was a blonde young man. His hair defied gravity, sticking out in the most extreme bedhead known to man. Unlike the colorful outfit of his predecessor, this one wore mostly black and red, though he managed it in a way that made him look classy, not like an emo. Introducing himself as Nate.

Music started up, and he began singing along to Bittersweet by Panic! at the Disco. It was close enough to jazz for Mike's attention to be piqued, and the guy wasn't bad at all. He had a kind of presence that the albino usually heard other people using to describe him. When he finished, there was rousing applause, especially from the middle section. Mike frowned, trying to figure out what made him unable to move his eyes off the man's face.

He was still wondering what it was when a taller guy in a suit came over to give congratulations. Then the boy pointed up at him, while grinning happily. Despite the fact that he didn't think of himself as an easily shocked person, he had a small heart attack on the spot.

Looking up at him were two sets of deep, emerald green eyes. Both wide open. One in joy, the other in shock.

Jack was looking straight at him.

The guy he may have a thing for. No. The guy he definately had a thing for.


	3. Chapter 3

The other contestants went by in moments, a blur of white noise and revelations. What was going on? Had the universe finally decided to bring a painful boatload of awkward, painful karma upon him for all his misdeeds? No, no, no. There was no way he'd done anything worth this.

Jack was no longer staring, but he fidgeted in his seat as Nate appeared to talk to him about something or other. The young singer was very animated, gesturing wildly where his companion was quiet and kept strictly to his seat. Occasionally Jack would glance up at the balcony seats before hastily turning back to face forward when he noticed Mike looking back at him.

"-ke? MIKE!"

Johnny's voice was urgent, his expression concerned. Ah. Randomly staring at people who were supposedly strangers was...probably not good.

"Yeah, what's your problem, kid?" he snapped back. Instantly regretting it, he softened his expression at the startled look on Johnny's face. He would never ever ever ever ever admit it to anyone ever, but the kid- and the rest of the group for that matter- had grown on him. So he should try to be nice.

"What's up kid?"

"Nuffin wrong, you've just been staring at that guy for a while now. You know 'im? "

"N-nah. Reminds me of someone and I can't remember who." He smiled nervously, hoping his cover worked.

"Ah, yeah. Hate it when that happens." Johnny gave him an understanding grin, turning to reassure the rest of the group that Mike wasn't going insane.

Which, to be fair, would be an understandable assumption. What, he goes all his life chasing skirts, has a girlfriend until this week and then suddenly goes head-over-heels for some random guy? Yeah, he could blame the alcohol, but there was definitely...something there before. Every bright grin had made his heart jump into his throat, every kind gesture shaving some of the weight off his shoulders.

"Okay, can I have the following back to stage please? Ashley, Nate, Ross, Pauline, Selena and Suni?"

Those listed flocked to Buster, while the rejected parties wandered off in various states of dismay. The theatre manager tried not to let the less polite contestants get to him, and soon it was only the chosen few who remained.

"Okay, crew head on down here! Each of you will be mentoring one of the singers, based on style of music!"

Oh no.

Karma.

Please.

Come on.

"Gunter, you'll be working with Ashley!" the enthusiastic pair practically leapt into a hug. After a quick noise reminder, they moved to some seats to discuss songs, dances and the merits of glitter.

"Ash, you'll be working with Selena!" that made sense. The girls were both wearing insane amounts of dark makeup but the newcomer had no talents with regards to instruments. Ash could give her those skills, or at least help her make up for their absence with other merits.

"Johnny, say hello to Pauline!" despite the fact that Pauline must have been 20 or more years his senior, the woman smiled pleasantly at him. Small, wet grey eyes stared out of a kind, round face. Her clothes were typical, a crisply ironed blouse and dark, loose jeans. Her black hair was scraped back into a bun to hide the grey. When they met, the two shook hands politely.

"Rosita, tutoring Suni!". A stocky African-American moved forward, dozens of golden bangles jangling across his forearm as he shook Rosita's hand. His hair was cropped almost to the scalp, with his bright red shirt and converses clearly used to give a lasting impression. Rosita smiled shakily, relaxing slightly more when he flashed a sparkling grin.

"Meena, I'll have you with Rachel." She shuffled forward, hiding herself slightly. Her partner was tall and lanky, flaming red hair cut shoulder-length, with a green t-shirt to offset it. She had informed them quietly that when her hair was loose, they were to use feminine pronouns and vice versa. Meena was somewhat relieved by the fact that her pupil looked as nervous as she did.

Mike was only these details as a means of avoiding the obvious conclusion.

"Last but by no means least, Mike! You will be teaching Nate!" At this expected news, Nate jumped up and down a little on the spot, latching onto Jack mid-leap. Graceful though he was, the added weight made him sway almost to the floor, meaning he almost careened into the tentatively approaching Mike.

"Whoa, hey! Watch it!" He slipped comfortably back into the short-tempered ass persona. It was the one that let him keep people at a safe distance while his brain worked on the situation at hand. While it often shocked people to hear such abundant sarcasm and unabashed rudeness from someone so short, he'd become very proficient in the art of not caring.

"Sorry, boss." Despite the apology, Nate looked anything but sorry. A wide grin was plastered across his face; there was no way he considered it serious.

"So, congrats." Jack had recovered from the drive-by hugging, and opted for a hasty handshake so he could leave.

"Whoa, you can't just leave me!" Nate yelled. Thankfully, his attention had switched from Mike, which allowed for quiet awkward looks to the side.

"Yeah I've got...work. You know." He trailed off, his expression unreadable.

"Oh."

"Yeah. I'll uh- I'll see you back home, kay? Can you make your way back?"

"Of course. Don't do anything dumb."

"Yeah, yeah. Don't do anything I would only do with alcohol."

Mike cringed slightly, but looked over just in time to see the brief flash of regret on his face. The very specific 'oh geez well wasn't that a swell thing to say' look that often appeared on his own face. So maybe Jack was serious in the note?

No. He couldn't have been. Probably expected never to come in contact with Mike again, especially with how stubbornly straight he made himself appear; even when he really wasn't feeling it. That number would probably bounce if he called it, or worse, it was some joke number and he'd have his hopes shattered.

Or worse, someone genuinely cared about him, but he'd be scared off when he realised what kind of person Mike was.

But then again. Just being this close to the guy had sent a warmth through him. The kind you read about in bad romance novels, the kind of mushy stuff Mike had sworn off doing because who has time for that?

Him, apparently.

"Yeah, so... Thanks for tutoring Nate." Jack said, forcing an indifferent expression onto his face. Offering his hand, he moved forward and quickly shook Mike's. For a second, while they only the thin leather of glove separated their hands, Mike's heart leapt out of his chest and into his throat. Feeling his face heat up, he quickly moved back so as not to be too obvious.

"Ok, see ya around then." Mike said, suddenly becoming very interested in his suit. Thankfully, Karma had gotten back at him enough, so the other crew members were too absorbed with their partners to notice this display, and Nate was talking to Buster quietly.

"Hopefully." Jack said with a wink, before turning on the heel of his designer shoe and walking out of the theatre.

What was worse, the sudden exit, or the way it made his heart jump?


	4. Chapter 4

"Okay ladies and gentlemen, that is all the time we have for today! I will be seeing you all at 10:30 sharp tomorrow, we have lots of work to do!"

Conversations petered out and then halted, and people made their way to the lobby. Some had to squint, their eyes having adjusted to the theatre lights and not the bright sunshine outside.

"Hey!" Mike had been making a beeline for the door, but stopped and turned with a 'this better be good' expression.

Nate caught up to him and grinned. "It's incredible to be working with you, Mr..." he tailed off there.

"Look, just call me Mike, kay kid?"

Relieved, Nate gave a small nod. "Oh, that was my brother, Jack, that had to leave. In such a hurry he never even bothered to introduce himself."

Mike debated telling him -some- of the truth, but decided he'd wait. If Jack hadn't said anything about him then there must have been a reason. You don't just give someone a flat, drink yourself dizzy and leave without a good reason, right? It'd be odd if that was the case. Not to mention completely unprecedented.

"Uh what else was I gonna say?" The young singer tilted his head back for a second as though that would prompt him to remember, before snapping it back to the front when he remembered.

"Have you got any song recommendations? All I get from people is Sinatra. Like, he's good, but he's not the only guy who's written jazz, y'know?" Nate smiled again.

"Yeah, I hear ya. Have a lil imagination, amirite?" Mike replied, feeling slightly less awkward now that they agreed on something. There was a beat of silence before he asked, casually, why Jack had to run off.

"Oh, he went to work."

Mike nodded, forcing down the urge to point out that that much was obvious. "What does he do?"

"He's an on-call specialist for a private company." The answer was concise, but too fast. Like he had rehearsed and reused that line a thousand times.

"What kinda company?"

"Uh, a law firm, I think? Solicitors and such, y'know?" Nate was slightly less assured with this statement, and his usual speech pattern was back in place.

Deciding not to pry further, in case he looked like he was snooping, Mike nodded and took a deep breath in.

"Well, I gotta go."

Nate made a small noise of confirmation and offered his hand. Without a word, Mike shook it, then made for the door again. What was it with people and handshakes today?

"Oh, and Mike?" The younger singer had stopped where he was, looking tentatively at Mike.

"Yeah kid?"

"I...I probably wouldn't still be doing this if it weren't for you, so...thanks, y'know?" The smile he now wore was smaller, but more sincere, and so much like his brother's. It made Mike's head spin that just the reminder made him feel warm. Therefore he decided to nod and leave before his behaviour got too noticeable.

Parked in a carefully hidden alcove was Mike's beloved red sports car. Paid for by the same people who had been after him, it was quite possibly the nicest thing he'd ever owned. Right now though, all it did was bring up the question he'd been unconsciously avoiding: What would happen when the three of them found him? If Jack wasn't hanging around to scare them off, there was nothing stopping them.

He still remembered them catching up to him. It always ended in disaster, and circa four months ago he had a partially crushed neck to show for their encounter. That was simultaneously the best and worst moment of his life. While being throttled and scared for his life was something that still woke him in cold sweat at night, seeing the concern on the crew's faces had been...oddly nice.

Having people care was scary. A large part of him wanted to shirk them, to make sure no-one got close. But as much as he wanted to, and as much as it may have spared them any collateral, he just couldn't.

I'm just being selfish.

Familiar stinging started up behind his eyes and he stood up straight, brushing his hand against the wheel. No way was he crying in some alley. In one smooth movement he swept around the car door, slipping into the seat. For a second, his head was clear. Then he turned the key, hearing the engine roar and settle into a low purr.

Time to get going.

Despite not being able to speed up much on the narrow, traffic-crammed roads of the smaller town near his flat, the car was some reassurance. Like an outrageously expensive safety blanket. A much-needed asset when his head was all over the place. It almost stopped him honking at some idiot who forgot how indicators work.

It only took about 20 minutes from the theatre to the street the flat was on, though that may have been in part due to Mike speeding along the only flat stretch of road, a costal drive with the rare blessing of no speed cameras. Pulling up to the block of flats, he followed the notices to the car park. In general, the cars were considerably expensive. That included a quarter million pound Porsche, sleek and black. Deciding that two supercharged sports cars right next to each other was asking for trouble, and parked in the only other spot, jammed between two minivans.

After descending a flight of stairs with a permanent smell of urine and weed, he arrived at the ground floor and made for the door.

Before his brain could figure it out, he was lifted up and slammed into the door. The culprit was the weakest of the three giant Russians. Now that he was looking at them more clearly, they were probably brothers. Looked too similar to be much else. Again, his brain was throwing up these facts to avoid the obvious. That being that he was probably about to die.

Having had enough of crushing Mike's throat against the door, the thug spun him ninety degrees and deposited him in the middle of the group.

"So you thought you could outrun us?" The largest asked. Though his accent was still quite strong, he was the oldest, making his English the most understandable. When he leaned in close, Mike got a whiff of his breath, strong on cheap whiskey and illegal cigars. A shadow of stubble had begun on his jaw.

A carefully crafted answer would be needed here.

"N-no." Was the eloquent response he ended up giving. Great.

Thus time the smaller one grabbed his collar, slamming him again into the wall. Air had a difficult time reaching him at this point, so Mike began to scrabble at the iron-clad fingers and pound weak fists against the wall and adjacent door.

Then the door opened.

Behind it was Jack. Despite some aspects of his usual attire being there, he looked different. The suit jacket was missing, showing a black silk waistcoat and white shirt. The sleeves were rolled up, showing abundant tattoos of various detail. His gloves were gone, as was his hat. Most shocking though, was the blood coating his hands and the large handgun in one of them.

Everyone froze except Mike, who turned to stare.

"I believe I told you about this already." Jack stated. Eyes narrowing, he brought the gun up with one hand. The other remained at his side. Mike noted the built-in silencer on the weapon, as well as the calm, focused expression he wore.

"Put him down and back off. You have three seconds before you become the next people I bury today."

There was no hesitation this time around. A weapon in the hands of someone like that meant you shut up and got to it. Guns in general had that effect on people. Before Mike had finished breathing again, the trio had headed off down the hallway as fast as their stocky frames would allow.

Jack turned without a word and walked back through the open door into the flat. Mike followed hesitantly. A tap was running inside, and the albino caught a glimpse of something metallic laid in the now red sink before his unexpected guest closed the door.

Exactly ten minutes later, Jack wandered into the living room. There was no trace of the blood or weapon, probably covered up to avoid arrest. When the taller man took a seat directly opposite Mike, he was forced to look at the other for the first time since their strange meeting. While outward appearance didn't say much, there was a hollow look to his eyes that hadn't been there before.

He sighed, leaning forward and resting his forearms on his upper legs. Another calming breath later and he was ready to speak.

"Hi."

Not what he'd been expecting, but a start. "Hey."

"So...you been ok?"

"Til just now, yeah."

Jack cringed a little at this, shifting uncomfortably. "Look, I'm not gonna insult your intelligence, but I wanna know what you think. So what do you think?"

"I think the guy I'm supposed ta hang around with and borrow this place from basically confessed to killin' a guy!"

"Pretty much."

Deciding to reserve judgement, Mike nodded. "So, what happened?"

Jack sighed again, suddenly looking weary. Almost like a soldier, wearing an expression that wouldn't look right on a man of a hundred, never mind one who was barely twenty. "He's been a problem for us. Killed a bunch of our guys, messed up shipments, et cetera."

Suddenly very sick, Mike nodded. He didn't trust his voice.

"At first the plan was to just get him to back off, but then he started saying all this...stuff. Talked about the guys he took out, said they were a buncha pussies. That they begged for their lives. Things escalated from there, and then I shut him up."

He was going to puke. His crush (because there really weren't any other words for it) was a murderer in an organised crime syndicate.

And he looked miserable right now.

And goddamn his stupid brain for hating that so much.


	5. Chapter 5

"I really don't know what to say."

"An explanation would be nice." Mike said quietly. He wasn't usually one to mumble, but this was worth it.

"…There isn't much else to clarify."

"Okay, then, what's up with the tattoos?"

"Group thing. Shows your rank."

"What is your rank?"

Jack paused, mulling over his words. "Second in command. After a guy codenamed Gold."

"What about his real name?"

This time Jack didn't bother dignifying the obvious question with a predictable response. Instead he stayed quiet and shrugged. At the same time, he sat straighter, rubbing a hand over his abnormally pale face. His phone buzzed, and he took it out of his pocket.

"My ride's here."

"I thought your car was there?"

"Wh-no, I..." Jack tailed off, expression pensive. "Did you see a make, number plate or anything?"

"Yeah, why?"

"I'll see if I can't get a more permanent resolution for our problem." Silence for a second. "I should add that I'm not planning a murder." Mike breathed out a little, feeling more comfortable in telling the other about the car. His knowledge of engines and such went as far as what made the most noise when you sped up.

The somewhat awkward exchange was cut short by knocking on the door. When it became clear Mike wasn't moving to get it, Jack rose out of his seat. One hand went to the door, the other into a vice grip around his pistol. After a glance through the peephole, Jack replaced the gun under his jacket and opened the door.

Behind the door was the only one Jack had trusted to drive him home. Mike was inclined to stare, despite usual politeness.

Tousled, wavy black hair fell to broad shoulders. The man's eyes were black, and glassy like obsidian. His skin had gotten it's share of sunshine, shown by a golden tan. High, sharp cheekbones were offset by a cocky smirk. He wore a black silk shirt, buttoned down just enough to show hints of a sculpted chest. Black skinny ripped jeans followed long legs down into black dress shoes. Flung over the ensemble in an intentionally chaotic style was a long black trenchcoat.

"Hey Jack."

"Alba, hey. That was fast."

"Yeah, wasn't too far away." He explained, pushing his hair back with one hand. If Mike had been confused about liking guys before, then it had only gotten worse.

Then Alba noticed the third person in the flat.

"Is this your boyfriend then?"

Leaving Jack to sputter indignantly by the door, Alba gracefully weaved around the furniture to the flat's other resident.

"Mike, right?" he asked, shaking the stunned albino's hand. "Good to hear about you outside of him gushing."

Jack threw an apologetic glance at Mike before embarrassment made him look away, slightly red. Alba grinned, flashing perfect teeth. "I can see why he likes you so much" his tone was lower, his gaze running over Mike once. Nevertheless, he felt as though he was being studied intensely. Gradually getting more nervous, he finally caved.

"Can I help ya?" Mike snapped. "Or ya just wanted ta ogle me outta nowhere?" his accent had thickened for his outburst, as it often did. A strange habit that had followed him throughout his life. Alba stepped back, startled. Then an easy grin washed away the uncertainty, and he jammed his hands into his jeans pockets.

"Sorry about that darling."

By now Jack had recovered from the 'boyfriend' jab, and had made his way over to Alba.

"Hey, we going?" he asked, a slightly agitated tone. His expression was irritated, but directed at Alba, not Mike.

"Of course, come on. Gold's been anxious to see you."

"Anxious to make sure I didn't mess up."

Mike followed them as far as the door. "Good luck with whatever it is you're doin', OK?"

Finally coming out of his bad mood, Jack smiled at him. That damn warm smile that threw all higher function out the window. Instead a slight blush came over his face. Then the door shut behind them and Mike was alone in the flat.

'Might be an idea to check the bathroom for evidence, right?' he thought to himself, walking in that direction.

No, no sign that Jack had scrubbed half a pint of blood off his hands here. In fact it looked too clean. In Mike's head it should have been covered in gore. It should have looked like a grisly crime scene. Anything to make it feel real. To make himself believe that he wouldn't just wake up in some guy's car trunk.

You were supposed to freak out in these scenarios, right? Call the police, hide under the bed, pray for forgiveness for that vase you broke and never confessed about? Instead there was a strange feeling of calm. Why didn't it bother him that the guy he liked was a dangerous criminal?

'Maybe because you already knew.'

Or worse: 'You like it'.

Option two sent a shudder through him, but he couldn't dismiss it. Most of his life he'd gone after safety. Pretty airheads, all chosen for him to be in charge. The idea of being with someone who carried a pistol almost the size of his forearm...

He sighed, walking over to the bedroom and flinging himself onto the covers. After another quick sigh, he noticed that the sheets hadn't been changed, and on the side of the bed closest to the door Jack's cologne had hung onto the fabric.

Well, Jack or no Jack, he couldn't sleep on a dirty mattress on the floor. Which meant he had to find the linen and then change the bed, despite his whole arm not even reaching halfway across it.

The linens were kept in a cupboard with the boiler, meaning they had a comfortable warmth when he picked them off the shelf. With everything he needed, Mike set about something he hadn't done since he was a child. Changing the sheets himself. An arduous task that he would have to brave alone.

'Sure would help if Jack-No.' No no no, there was no way he could just randomly start thinking about him. God, what did he have to do with this?

He ignored the obvious voice in his mind, pointing out that 'Jack messed up the bed too'.

Channelling his anger into extra bed-making power, he soon finished. If he could channel his confusion so productively, he'd never have a motivation problem again.

Exhausted despite having done very little, Mike flopped onto the bed, boneless. All his energy had gone on trying to comprehend the whirlwind of information and feelings. As though someone had dumped him into a tornado and asked him to pick out a safe way out.

On one hand, he was a murder and dangerous.

On the other hand, he was suave and dangerous.

Not that Mike needed any more turmoil in his life. Idly, he ran his fingertips lightly over his throat. Flinching slightly at the feel of a bruise rising on his pale skin, he then thought back to that moment. He had been seconds from being carted off and having his vital organs sold on the black market. Then, just like before, Jack had swooped in like a guardian angel. Granted, a guardian angel that scared the hell out of him, but still.

Mike caught himself with his face nuzzled into a pillow, breathing deeply. It smelled clean, like detergent and vanilla, but too clean. He found himself longing the lingering scent of expensive cologne and spice. Despite not being sure where the spice smell came from, it was a comforting mix. Probably those expensive cigarettes. Turkish, if his limited knowledge of the language served.

For a moment, he allowed his mind to wander. Did Jack smoke in bed?

A groan escaped him and he rolled over. His mind was not helping matters. 'Oh, you want to forget the guy? I thought you wanted to think of nothing but that!'. Really now. He had...other things going on in his head, right?

Not really. Jack was entwined with everything. If he thought of the theatre, he would think of Nate, then he would be reminded. An idle part of his brain wondered if Jack could sing. Would he be a crooner, the same as Mike? Did he have a good voice? It would make sense, the guy needed something else to be utterly and stupidly perfect at. Stupid perfect face and his stupid perfect voice that was only in Mike's head.

So instead he thought about Nancy. It made him realise how different things were with her. While she was definitely nice, and way out of his league, he hadn't felt the way he expected around her. He hadn't gotten butterflies whenever she smiled. He'd never found himself not wanting to change the sheets because that would get rid of her scent. In fact, her perfume had made him feel ill.

Groaning again in frustration, Mike threw his hat onto a comfortable white desk chair. Unlike the colourful living room, the bedroom opted for stark, sensible tones of white and some grey. Right now though, the glaring light off every article just made him irritated.

Turning off the light, he shut the curtains and changed quickly. The bed was roomy and comfortable, but cold. As he drifted off, a random thought entered his head.

'i bet Jack could warm it up.'


	6. Chapter 6

The next morning was difficult, as he'd drifted in and out of sleep. Some of the highlights included staring up and mentally insulting the overhead lights at 3am. Or waking up at awkward times, only to almost sleep through his alarm.

Early start meant getting things done faster, which meant less awkwardness. If he was honest, he might have admitted he was the source of 95-100% of the awkwardness, but the hypothetical five percent was someone else's fault, so he chose to dislike that part.

After his usual preparations, he hunted down some toast, taking the last chunk with him as he made his way to the car park. The black sports car was gone, thankfully, and so only his remained. And after inputting the code scrawled on a note above the keypad, the lot's door slowly rattled open. Mike put his car in gear and turned smoothly out of the car park.

One uneventful drive later, he arrived at the Moon Theatre. The owner and namesake of the place, Buster, was outside talking to Nate. Near the door was a yellow sports car so low it barely cleared Mike's shoulders. Tinted windows were rolled up, so that he couldn't see who was inside in the brief glimpse he got.

After hiding the car, Mike made his way to the pair.

"Hey, who's the hotshot in the low-rider?" Mike asked. His arrogance was a front to confirm what he already knew was true. As the windows went down, he saw Alba in the driver's seat, bobbing his head to loud house music. In the passenger seat was Jack, not looking anywhere in particular.

"Why hello again, darling." Alba purred. His expression was smug, but still very attractive. Why did all the hot ones have to be tangled up in high-stakes organised crime?

"Oh, do you know these two?" Buster inquired, hopping down the steps towards Mike.

"We ran into each other after the show." Jack quickly replied. He likely didn't want to have Alba come out with something either mildly suggestive or blatantly dirty. Mike probably would have just murmured until he ended up spitting some ridiculous lie.

Buster smiled wide. "Fantastic! I've been saying to Nate here that the supporters should feel welcome! You're playing a big part in making people feel motivated!" Buster was beaming from ear to ear, a lot more enthusiastic about the situation than most.

"Sure, no problem." Jack replied. He added a weak smile for effect. That is, not much effect at all. Alba had it covered though, flashing a wide grin as he slid out of the car. The passenger door slammed loudly, making Nate jump.

As the group stood around awkwardly, other singers approached, and by the time fifteen minutes had passed, everyone had arrived. Last inside were Eddie and Mrs.Crawley. Then the heavy doors swung shut, allowing darkness to flood the foyer for an instant. Then warm lights flicked on, offsetting vintage and golds, painstakingly restored and maintained.

"Ok people, listen up! We have a lot of work to get to, so everyone has an assigned rehearsal space. Feel free to consult others for advice, and I'm sure any questions your mentor can't answer will be picked up by myself or Eddie! Rough schedules are up in the lobby, come and see me if there are issues. Other than that, let's get right on with it!" At the end of his speech, Buster hopped down off the ticket desk.

"Good luck!" Rosita chirped as she went by. Similar greetings were waved off without much protest, and some of the more tactful singers picked up on it, exchanging worried glances at each other. The crew almost expected some level of resistance, not a tired hand gesture or a one-word response.

Nate and company had congregated around Mike, expecting direction. Not one to disappoint -often-, he made his way to the most isolated room and shut the door after the three. A few old instrument cases were stacked for a bare-bones ascetic, so Alba and Jack sat there. As someone who loved his saxophone as much as himself (well, maybe not that much/little, depending on his mood) Mike could list off a hundred reasons not to sit on a good case, but whatever. The flaking leather wasn't going to complain.

"Kay, you think of any more songs?" he asked, turning to Nate.

"Oh, yeah! Made a list -suggestions and stuff, y'know?" with this, the youngest produced a neatly folded and horribly crumpled piece of paper. Unlike his brother's, Nate's handwriting was tiny, barely larger than the small print on a contract. Round and compact, too. No wandering words or random letters.

"Uh. Yeah. I can't really...read this."

"Allow me, darling." Alba swept himself from his previous perch, gliding over to the pair. Then he plucked the page from their hands, studying the list. Then, with little effort, deciphered each song one by one.

"Thanks!" Nate said, grinning at Alba.

"Not an issue, darling. I look forward to hearing you two sing." He replied, smirking at them both.

"So what do you wanna sing?"

"Uh...I guess Sinatra? It's a lil overdone, but...can't beat the classics, y'know?"

"Yeah, I hear ya."

After throwing an awkward glance at the seated pair, Mike turned away and started singing. Instantly, he felt something there that hadn't come across just listening in. The sheer joy and ease he radiated while he sang. Alba looked stunned, while Jack merely relaxed in his seat, smiling a little for the first time since he arrived.

When they finally synced the last note, Nate turned to his mentor, grinning eagerly. "So how was that?"

"Yeah, not bad at all, kid."

"I'm like...20."

"Huh." Mike did a double take and stared. "Nuh-uh."

"Yeah. People do say I look young for my age though, y'know?"

"No kidding." Mike replied, exhaling sharply. "I'm just gonna grab my sax an' we'll see how that goes, kay?"

Before Mike could even hear a response, he was gone. Then, as soon as he got around the corner he sighed deeply. Normally while singing the rest of the world was no big deal, but just then? When he could feel those wonderful eyes following him as he sang? There had been pressure, but behind it there was a sense that he was putting on a show. Maybe he could get Jack flustered? That had been surprisingly cute the first time.

"Hey."

Mike jumped, detaching himself from the wall he'd been leaning against and glaring around for the offender. Rosita stood there, a slightly bewildered expression on her face.

"You OK there?"

It was difficult to scrape up an aggressive front, so Mike didn't bother. "Uh. Yeah, whatever."

Rosita didn't say anything, just put on a well-practiced disapproving mother look. "You're acting oddly, so some of us got a little concerned."

"L-look I don't need a support group, OK?"

Her face softened, showing genuine concern, and Mike felt like the worst person in the universe.

He caved instantly, his shoulders slumping out of their usual arrogant slope. "Hey, look...Sorry for yelling at ya. It's just that... I don't know, I'm dealin with a lotta stuff right now. Head's all over the place."

Eddie, who had been working on something in the corner and apparently had bat ears, interjected with "GETCHA HEAD IN THE GAME BUDDY!". Then he heard someone else give him a perfect setup and wandered away to brighten their afternoon with his terrific humour.

Rosita followed his exit with a confused expression, shared by Mike. Then she turned back to him and said "You can talk about it you know. 25 kids, I get how it goes.".

At first Mike's thoughts were along the lines of 'hell no', but it was hard enough. Everything going on had drained him, almost as much as the hopeful butterflies whenever Jack was on the same room. He deflated even more, then opened his mouth.

"So a few days ago I meet this guy, and like- he saved my ass, then we kinda..."

"Yep, yep, I get it, moving on."

"Only now he keeps popping up, and I keep getting nervous when he does, but also like really...I don't know, like...warm? And I just kinda got over that, when he saved my ass again, but now it turns out he works for some shady...company thing? And I just really don't get anything that's going on or why I still l-" he cut himself off abruptly there.

Rosita smiled knowingly. "Sounds to me like you have a problematic crush."

"What? No, no! I don't get 'crushes'! That's kid stuff!"

"And yet it's quite possibly the only explanation. And I think you know it, but you don't want to."

"Sorry, doc! Didn't remember you have a degree!"

She sighed, patting his shoulder. "For the record, I promise I will definitely say I told you so when you bring him round." With this she left quickly, taking Mike's chance for rebuttal.

Despite the fact his face was burning red, he felt as though a weight had lifted from him. The door to the studio they had been using creaked open.

"Ah, darling are you alright with the case? I'll help." Alba had poked his head out and seen that he was still stood in the hallway.

"Yeah, I just forgot where I put it for a second, and this place is so messy-" He was cut off by Alba, who waved a tanned hand for a second.

"It's fine darling. Let's find it, shall we?"

Turned out that it was exactly where it had been, laid in an unused rehearsal space.

"About damn time! Honestly, I swear to God there's someone who keeps puttin it other places, then they just put it back ta mess with me. I mean, it so wasn't here last time we-"

His words were again cut off, this time not by a hand, but by Alba pulling him closer and kissing him. It was warm, and nothing like any previous experience.

Alba's lips were warm and soft, but that tongue... Mike shivered at the feel of it. As the kiss went on, the Italian felt bold enough to link his arms around Mike's waist and grind against him.

They broke apart quickly, both gasping for air.

"WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?"

"Oh darling, don't tell me you didn't enjoy it. I must say though, I was not expecting that to go as it did."

"Why would you do that?"

"Someone needed to give you a push in the right direction, darling. I have to go now!"

He chirped his last phrase so innocently Mike wanted to punch him.

'The hell does he mean, right direction?'


	7. Chapter 7

Dedicated to the first reviewer, @IvyPage!

With a few moments to compose himself, Mike took a deep breath and prepared his most serious glare. It surely would have been a terrifying thing. A glare of unappeasable fury. The Glare of Unstoppable Anger. But it was less effective when there was absolutely no-one to glare at, for, having been his irritatingly charming self, Alba had cleared out. Right before The Glare of Unstoppable Anger had brought it's might upon him, he'd simply dashed out. Probably seeking refuge from irritated albino crooners.

An admirable battle strategy, but fruitless in the face of the dreaded…SARCASM!

If Mike could actually scrape up the energy to be sarcastic. In the span of less than a week, he'd been dragged out of a closet he hadn't even known he was in and assaulted by bizarre circumstances. Even if he'd done next to nothing at the theatre and even less at home, it had been draining.

He…liked guys. That was all but established at this point.

He also liked a very specific guy, but that was going horribly wrong at every turn.

And now he was trying to figure out why he hadn't punched that creep in his awful pretty-boy face.

Mike probably would have continued making simplistic statements and irritating himself had Jack not slipped into the hallway.

"You OK?"

"Jeez, don't just show up like that! Gave me a heart attack!"

"…I just walked out the room. Don't really…get what the problem is here."

"How 'bout you ask your stupid…cocky…too much conditioner pal, huh?"

Jack's expression darkened, uncomfortably close to the look he had when they'd last met, and Mike tensed instinctively. Seeing this, Jack took three deep breaths and relaxed. One gloved hand threaded into his hair as he exhaled again.

"Sorry." He murmured, the last of the tension bleeding from his face. It was replaced by the small smile as he pushed his hands into his pockets. "So what happened?"

"He……………………………….."

Jack watched on as Mike held the sound, drawing it out in hopes of having the subject dropped.

"Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. You know what? It's fine. Uh, Imma just get back, tutoring and all that-" he made for the hallway past the other man, and suddenly felt himself being swung around by the wrist to face Jack. He spun for a moment, almost stopping in front of the other, as had been the plan.

What neither of them had accounted for was the horrible grip of Mike's shoes. Gravity made an appearance, tugging the shorter man over. Jack responded, as most kind people do, by trying to catch him.

For those who didn't know, gravity is quite the matchmaker.

So of course they both fell. On top of each other.

The noise prompted several of the nearby performers to peek out of their rehearsal spaces, only to give various reactions to the scene. Nate and Alba both cheered, while Rosita froze with a look of joyful surprise on her face. Seeing this, Mike scrambled to stand up. His face was burning; there would be no living this down.

In his panic, however, he lost his balance again, tumbling into Jack. Again.

"Ship it like FedEx." Ashley said, breaking the silence.

"Don'tcha have something better to do?" he snapped, glaring at the crowd.

"Oh don't worry, this is a million times better." Selena replied, grinning at them both.

By now, Jack had managed to stand up without further catastrophe, and joined Mike in glaring. He probably would have actually managed to say something had Buster not noticed the group now assembled and gotten curious.

"Hey, hey! What's the issue?"

"Just fawning over the happy couple." Ash explained, pointing to the two in the middle.

"Wait you guys are dating?"

"Oh for God's sake, NO!" Jack had reached the end of his tether, redder than his hair and practically foaming at the mouth. Both of them had their arms crossed and jaws clenched.

"Guys? Maybe we should leave them alone." Meena said, trying to direct people back to their rehearsal rooms and spare them both further embarrassment. While some kinder souls went along with it, others actually started coming up with ship names, right there in front of them!

"Ok, show's over folks, back to rehearsal!" Buster cut in. He gave them a quick 'are you ok' look before herding various people away. Jack turned to offer an apologetic look to Mike, only to find the man sporting a strangely pensive look.

"Something wrong?" he asked quietly, placing his hand gently on Mike's shoulder. It was at this point he regretted having yelled. Not only had he lost his patience with some of the small number of people who the albino actually liked, but he'd completely dismissed the idea of being together, despite that being the furthest thing from the truth.

Despite the complex emotional situation playing out in that hallway, on the physical side it was merely two people standing awkwardly near each other and staring at the ground. Overall, it looked as though they'd walked into a sculpting class and been mistaken for the models, but we're too polite to mention it, and were therefore stuck posing until class ended. This bizarre scenario should be accounted for when critiquing Nate's decision to barrel into his older brother as a means of catching his attention.

"Rehearsal? I have to learn how not to suck at singing, remember?"

Jack rolled his eyes and pried Nate off the front of his suit. "Why not attack him then?", he asked, making a sweeping gesture to Mike.

"Because I can get away with 'attacking' you?" Nate replied, smirking. "Now c'mon!". Having issued commands, he turned and darted into the room.

Sighing fondly, Jack turned to Mike again. "He's gonna pester you 'til you get back in there."

Mike just nodded, mimicking the other's sigh, though minus the fondness. "Yeah, yeah."

"Uh, one more thing? " a slight flush sneaked onto Jack's face involuntarily. A hand went up to play with the small amount of hair not contained by his hat.

"Yeah? C'mon, we don't have all day." Mike snapped, cringing internally at how sharp the words sounded. Some part of his mind noted that he was doing it again, pricking everyone nearby whenever he came too close to having some kind of civil relationship with someone.

"I- What I said before, about us not being together?"

This is it, he thought. He's had enough of you.

"Would you like to change that?"

Silence.

Both of them were very still. They looked like deer in headlights, or a British person who's forgotten to slap their knees and say 'right' to get out of a conversation they couldn't afford to get into in the first place. Mike turned to look at Jack, had a moment of frustration at the other's taller build, then met his gaze. In that moment, he noticed that, despite Jack trying his suave expression and confident body language, he was nervous. Very much so.

"Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh yeah?" Mike blurted. He had gone red again, and absently noted that this might be some kind of personal record for blushing.

Jack didn't notice, he was too busy looking like someone had offered him a lifetime supply of candy. Then a huge, mindless grin spread over his face and he wrapped his arms around Mike.

Looking through the glass walls of the rehearsal space, Nate pouted as he fished ten dollars out of his wallet and handed it to Alba.

"Don't pull that face with me. Chances are it's allowance from Jack anyway."

Nate didn't reply, merely grumbled and crossed his arms. "You realize it's now my obligation as a younger sibling to grill this guy nonstop, right?"

"And I'm sure you'll do an excellent job of it. For now though, let's leave them, shall we dear?"

"Fine."


End file.
